Personal Narrative Fiction

The satchel had been my best find in a while from the thrift store. The leather was kind of beaten, but that made it all the more appealing to me. That bag already had a life without me. Maybe it was some drug runner's money bag. Maybe it had belonged to a spy who'd used it undercover and had no more need of it. But whoever it was liked strawberry chapstick. I found a half finished one in the bottom along with some old gum wrappers and crumbs of some sort. I myself preferred mint though. Mint anything- gum, chapstick; cookies, mint in general. That sharp scent that would leave a familiar sensation along your mind and tongue; I loved it.

I allowed my footsteps to echo around the deserted square. Sounding loud in my own ears, like the booming heartbeat of a condemned prisoner. The quiet town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets were like the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. But this town seemed still and dead with no one to around. I turned down my normal route home. The alleyway I snuck through was as straight as a drinking straw and almost as narrow. Mom use to tell me that it wasn't a place someone should go walking after a big meal. I could hear …show more content…
The leaves that were at my feet had no intention of carpeting the ground, but they do. I'm sure if given the choice they would still be green and supple. But in their many colors they were a wonder. A unique mosaic painted around the borders of the cobblestone floor. The buildings were tight and loomed over me, like a forest of stone. When I looked up, the roofs seemed so close together. I could only make out a sliver of the dark blue sky that was fading into morning. Splattered with stars in a tiny stream of light. The alleyway twisted and turned back on itself. When I look in front and behind me, I could see nothing but cold hard